As a temporary employee, I didn't suffer the same kind of unknown future as the real workers at the Boardwalk Hotel and Casino. But I didn't let that stop me from playing the role of disgruntled lifer when customers at the cashier cage would offer their sympathy.
"It's so terrible that they're tearing this place down. What happens to you?"
"Actually, they're locking us in here when the bulldozers come. We have to figure a way out."
It was levity laced with corporate hatred. I'm good at that. But when other employees would ask me something similar, and I was tired of saying that I didn't know, I'd stroke my multi-week beard and ponder a new answer.
"So, what are you going to do after this place closes?"
"Okay. And after that?"
55 Fiction Friday gets razor bumps.
He winced and felt his lower lip swell. He made his pal promise to deliver two quick punches, and there was no going back now. Great actors had a look, and he needed a sexier mouth before next week’s audition.
“Okay, I’m ready.”
“All right, man. Brace yourself.”
With friends like these, who needs collagen?